


spooky ghosts

by pipsqueakparker (lafbaeyette)



Series: fictober 2020 [23]
Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: An Alternative Night at Pitch Manor, Ficlet, Ficlet Collection, M/M, Sharing a Bed, Watford Eighth Year, Watford Era AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:42:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27171931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lafbaeyette/pseuds/pipsqueakparker
Summary: I don’t know what prompted me to open my mouth as I was leaving Watford.I don’t know what possessed him to accept such an offer.But somehow, by the grace of either Merlin or Crowley (potentially a little of both), Simon Snow is at my family home for the winter holidays.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Series: fictober 2020 [23]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1949911
Comments: 4
Kudos: 112





	spooky ghosts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [annabellelux](https://archiveofourown.org/users/annabellelux/gifts).



> day 23: spooky ghosts
> 
> this one is also cutting it close, but i've not slept yet so it's still friday oct. 23 - i would've posted earlier but tbh i needed some self care time so i didn't start working on this until late. 
> 
> the self care time at least seemed to help, because this came a lot easier than some of the other fics i've written this week. 
> 
> anyway, this is like... watford eighth year, everything's the same just an alternative night at pitch manor
> 
> just something short that gets simon in baz's bed basically 
> 
> also it's my wife's birthday, happy birthday annabellelux - imma dedicate this one to you (although this is NOT your official birthday gift fic, that one will be belated)

**BAZ**

I don’t know what prompted me to open my mouth as I was leaving Watford.

I don’t know what possessed _him_ to accept such an offer.

But somehow, by the grace of either Merlin or Crowley (potentially a little of both), Simon Snow is at my family home for the winter holidays.

We took a train together and met my father at the station.

Father was surprised to say the least, but I told him we had a project for school and Snow had nowhere to be anyway. I played it off as an act of pity when in actuality it was the most selfish thing I could have done.

I’m laying in my bed, staring at my ceiling, unable to sleep because Simon Snow is two doors down from me in the guest room. In my home.

At least, I thought he was. There’s a gentle knock on my door, pulling me out of my salacious thoughts and back to the moment.

I’ve barely gotten out of bed before there’s another, more persistent, knock. I swing the door open, expecting Mordelia or maybe one of the younger children, but instead find Snow with wide eyes, messy hair, and no shirt.

I narrow my eyes, glaring at him to mask my genuine reaction to him being shirtless _in my home_.

“Snow.”

“Uh,” Snow scratches the back of his neck. “Baz.”

“What do you want?”

“Th-there’s, uhm…” Snow clears his throat. “Your fucking mansion is haunted — there’s — the sounds in that room — I couldn’t sleep…”

“Why is this my problem?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest. Snow looks soft and rumpled, the wraiths must have woken him up. His trackie bottoms rest low over his hips, the band resting just beneath the softness of his belly. I tear my eyes away as soon as I realize I’ve started ogling him. I hope he didn’t notice.

“I — Baz, I just— ” He lets out a frustrated growl. “Can I just… stay in here? Or something? Too used to sharing with you, the quiet was weird anyway, now it’s worse.”

Simon Snow wants to sleep _in my room_.

I let out my haughtiest huff and take a couple steps back, making space for him to come into the room. Snow shuffles in, feet bare, cheeks flushed from the obvious embarrassment of having to _admit_ that he’d rather sleep in a room with me.

He stands in the middle of the room, glancing between my bed and the sofa on the opposite wall. His mouth is hanging open in a silent question, which I answer by tossing a pillow directly at his face.

“There’s a blanket on the sofa,” I say, gesturing to the throw folded over one of the arms. “I can hardly imagine you getting cold at night, so I’ll assume that’s enough for you?”

He shuts his mouth, now gripping the pillow against his chest, and nods. I watch him shuffle over to the sofa, staring at it for a long moment before finally placing the pillow at one end and settling down. I turn back to my bed before he can catch me staring, climbing back under my duvet and laying with my back to the room.

Snow shifts and shuffles around for a bit before finally settling. Now rather than staring at the ceiling coming up with new fantasies about my disastrous roommate, I’m left staring at the wall listening to his breathing and wishing sleep would come.

Eventually it must because the next thing I know I’m waking up to Snow’s hand on my shoulder. I start, turning my head to glare at him once I reorient myself to the moment.

“What do you _want_ , Snow?” I hiss. His eyes are soft, tired. His voice is quiet.

“That sofa’s ridiculously uncomfortable,” he mutters. “I — uhm — could I — ?”

“Spit it out, Snow.” There’s none of the usual venom in my voice when I say it, just mild sleepy annoyance because I would like to go back to sleep.

“I just — I don’t think I can sleep — on that — it’s not comfy…” He can’t look into my eyes as he speaks. He’s just staring at the floor, and I can see a flush crawl into his cheeks again.

He doesn’t want to ask.

Probably he thinks I’ll say no, because he doesn’t know how weak I am for him. I wish _I_ didn’t know how weak I am for him.

But I am weak, and I’d like to just go back to sleep, so rather than prolonging Snow’s awkward moment I scoot closer to the other side of the bed. His eyes finally come back to me, then to the newly empty space in the bed next to me.

He doesn’t move.

I sigh.

“Come on, Snow, get in before I think better of it.”

There’s another pause, a hesitation, and then he’s reaching out to fold the duvet back carefully before getting into the bed. I shut my eyes, desperately wishing to go right back to sleep, and listen as he shifts next to me. I can _feel_ him shifting next to me, pulling at the blanket we’re now _both_ under.

_Crowley_.

I can feel the warmth radiating from his body, soaking down to my bones and making me wish I could move closer to him. _Maybe if I pretend I’m asleep…_

I truly don’t know how I’ve found myself in this position, what compelled me to take the truce _this_ far, that he’s home with me over the holidays.

Whatever I’ve done, though, has gotten Simon Snow into my childhood bed.

I wonder if I can do it again.


End file.
